


With Nothing On My Tongue

by Ms_Anthrop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Antonement, Character Study, Distrust, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, End of Childhood, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Politics, Leonard Cohen - Freeform, Literary References & Allusions, Musical References, Piano, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Song: Hallelujah, Songfic, Spanning Books 1-7, Story within a Story, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop
Summary: "And even though it all went wrong/I'll stand before the Lord of Song/With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah…"For Severus Snape, playing music held as just much enchantment as performing actual magic. But how and why did he learn to play the piano? A life told through song as a homage to the genius of Leonard Cohen and Alan Rickman.Written as part of the 2017 Snapecase Fest on LJ.





	1. The Piano

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written as part of the wonderful 2017 Snapecase Fest on LJ; my thanks to iulia linnea for granting me the extra time to write it, lena1987 for an encouraging read through, and Lolly for the brilliant beta job. The 2018 Snapecase fest is currently accepting entries, so if you are interested, check it out here- https://snapecase.livejournal.com
> 
> The notion and indeed, the tone of this piece came to me the night that Leonard Cohen passed away. If you've read any of my other works, then you know that I'm quite a fan of his music, and 'Hallelujah' is easily my favourite song. Before I went to bed I put on one of his albums, and as always was struck by the power and poetry of Mr Cohen's lyrics. Listening to the music made me also reflect on the life and recent passing of Alan Rickman, and how the ambiguity of this song could reference not just the span of a single relationship, but the entirety of a life as well. Once I fell down that particular rabbit hole, I couldn't help but sketch out the bones of this story.
> 
> Other than some minor fiddling, this story is complete and will be posted in four chapters over the next week or so. Let me know what you think, lovely readers!
> 
> Finally, a warning. This isn't my usual EWE, HEA tale: major events stay true to canon.

_August 1981, Hogwarts_

 

A piano appeared in the staff room on his third day as a professor.

The old upright replaced a sagging red velvet two-seater that had been languishing unused in the far corner of the room. Severus had made the mistake of sitting on the monstrosity only once; fearing that he was in imminent danger of being eaten alive and belched out the bottom in the form of woollen dust bunnies, he had gracelessly extracted himself and never attempted to sit there again. Oddly, the fabric of the padded piano bench was of the same worn velvet as the sofa, and Severus wondered if the House Elves were simply tight-fisted or if he was justifiably paranoid in imagining some sort of cryptic message about the meaning of life.

He ignored the piano for weeks; it smelt strongly of one of Dumbledore's more ham-handed traps. Still, the instrument beckoned like a siren upon the rocks, the brazen oaken curves gleaming seductively with the promise of music.

It was a blustery, blue-skied Wednesday when he finally gave in to temptation. As the youngest member of staff and a mere two years removed from his own graduation, Severus found himself adrift and friendless, neither fish nor fowl to the other denizens of the Castle. And so when he strode into the faculty lounge—something that still rather felt like trespassing—to find himself blessedly alone, Severus made a beeline for the piano, all marking forgotten.

To his great surprise, the piano was not only well tuned, but the padded bench contained a wonderfully thick stack of Muggle sheet music. Cautiously, he sat down, running a long finger over the keys.

C, D, E, F…

The notes were bright and pure, mixing with the sunshine streaming through the mullioned windows to create an altogether different sort of magic. A shiver slid down his spine, loosening some of the knots: here, at least, was something that he knew how to handle with confidence.

His first measures of Schubert were halting and rough; it had been over five years since Severus had even seen a piano, never mind played one. With a grimace, he rose, stripped off his robes and frock coat, and flexed his narrow shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he began again.

 _Sit up straight_ , he recited, whispers of the past filling the room like errant sunbeams. _Play at the shoulders, not the wrists. Don't hit the keys, caress them…_

One note, and then two; a chord, then an entire measure... and just like that, Severus was utterly lost.

The music flowing from his fingers dipped and soared, somehow contriving to loosen the tight Occlumentic shields that had frozen everything but his fury and fear; each tumbling arpeggio chipped away at the ice until the sound and the sentiment was one glorious mess rippling through the air.

Abruptly, the magic ended.

The room had gone gloomy and chilly, the sun having sunk below the mountains at the far end of the Black Lake. His wrists and fingers ached abominably, and his neck had the most peculiar crick in it. Shifting gingerly on the bench, Severus peered behind him and froze; the room was packed with silent, staring staff members.

In an instant, Severus felt his face flame red and scrambled to shore up his shields. He had never meant to expose himself in such a fashion, and never would have continued to play if he had known that there was an audience…

"That was magnificent, Severus." A stout form detached herself from the wall, and with a wave of a wand, lit the lamps in the room. Aurora Sinistra—a professor who never had so much as given him the time of day—granted him a warm smile. "I had no idea that you played, nor that you played so well. We've all been sitting in the dark for the better part of an hour because we didn't want to disturb you."

"My apologies. I did not mean to monopolise the space…" Severus began, hastily donning his frock coat and wondering how quickly he could flee to the dungeons without looking foolish. _Idiot! You should have at least taken enough care to cast detection charms…_

The astronomy professor's countenance turned wry. "Oh, don't misunderstand me, lad. Your playing was a pleasant treat after a trying day. I do hope that we will get to hear you again."

A chorus of agreement met her words and Severus paused, briefly taking in the expressions around him. For once, people were eyeing him with blatant approval rather than icy disgust; even McGonagall had relaxed enough not to appear as if she was sucking on lemons.

_Maybe, he mused, just maybe I can use this to my advantage…_

Then the coldly calculating blue gaze of Albus Dumbledore collided with his, and he nearly shuddered at what he saw; a pet Death Eater Severus might be, but he would not willingly hand the Headmaster any more of his soul than he already had.

"I must agree with Aurora. That was quite the performance."

Visions of being trotted out to play for the students, or worse yet, the Ministry, filled Snape's head. _Never!_ "It was a one-off, I assure you," he said, snatching his marking from the table and turning for the door.

"That's a pity," the older wizard murmured. "Clearly, the Castle saw fit to move the piano into the staff lounge for a reason. And as you well know, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For all that his words were conciliatory, there was a threat lurking just under the surface. _Don't get any ideas. Your job here isn't to make friends…_

Snape sneered. _I know that, you bastard!_

In a swirl of robes, he left.

* * *

Naturally, it wasn't a one-off.

Two weeks later, Severus snuck into the staff room after the evening rounds and played for nearly five hours; when he finally fell into bed, he slept like the dead and awoke more clear-headed then he'd been in months.

Something had to break, he knew; one could not dance on the knife's edge between two masters—on top of teaching and Head of House duties no less!—and not slip without some outlet. Occlumency could only go so far, and he already had been ordered to stop assigning so much detention to the little bastards. He resolved to continue his nocturnal concertos, the unspoken reproof from Dumbledore be damned.

However, a conversation overheard several days later radically changed his approach. Severus hadn't been lurking, precisely—he had a right to be on the fourth-floor balcony alcove just like anyone else—but had declined to announce his presence as McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey meandered by. Their inattention made it clear they were having a juicy chinwag, and he slipped further into the draperies when it became evident that the chatter was about him.

"Has he played again?" Pomfrey asked.

"Not so you'd catch him at it. Several of the portraits have heard him playing in the wee hours of the morning, however."

"That's a shame. I must say, I think it's sweet that he's too shy to play in front of anyone. It shows how much it means to him."

"Merlin knows he's not the bashful sort about anything else."

Pomfrey gave an amused snort. "Still sore that he outscored every one of your Gryffindors at the N.E.W.T.'s, dearie?"

"Hardly. The only thing that's sore is my hand, and that's due to the sheer length of his papers that I graded over the course of his student career. Still, I imagine that he's getting a taste of his own medicine now that he's teaching."

The women went quiet before Pomfrey spoke again. "Albus didn't seem very pleased with the reaction to his playing."

"No. He wasn't."

"So it was the Castle that moved the piano into the lounge, then?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Has that happened before? The Castle acting in such a way, I mean."

"It's rare, but yes."

"Why?" Pomfrey's voice dipped as they moved further away, and Severus strained to hear her next words. "And if Snape's to be trusted now, why would Albus object to something as harmless as a piano?"

"I don't know, Poppy, truly. The two of them have always been at odds. Besides, you know Albus. Can't stand anything that he can't control."

"Men…"

"Indeed."

* * *

Severus mulled over the conversation for several days. He was loath to reveal himself further, and playing the piano had always been an intensely personal act. But there were other considerations to take into account; he must be seen making allies in the Castle, or the Dark Lord would replace him in a manner most painful; the usual punishment of a summons was bad enough as it was. Getting caught playing the piano had noticeably softened attitudes of the staff, and would be a good start to forming more positive connections. That the action would also ruffle the feathers of Albus Dumbledore was an unexpected boon…

_I'll have to be careful and not let myself get lost in the music. Hex the bench, perhaps?_

* * *

Unexpectedly, he found himself nervous as he settled down to play; Severus could practically count on one hand the number of times he'd played for others. Flipping through the sheet music, he was annoyed to see that not only was his hand a tad unsteady, but it was not completely dry, either.

_Some big, bad Death Eater you are… why do you care, anyway? They thought you were nothing better than scum as a student, and their opinions are hardly better now!_

The caustic and bitter flow of resentment at the thought calmed his nerves: indeed, he did not care what they thought. Severus wasn't doing this for accolades—it was merely a means to an end. He didn't trust Dumbledore to keep up his side of the bargain, and if he was going to ever make up for what he had done, he had to have more supporters than a single, poncey, judgemental old poofer.

_Right. Some Bach, perhaps? Chopin? No, I need something showier. Khatchaturian, I think…_

* * *

Shockingly, it worked like a charm.

By the second week of October, he was no longer an island upon himself; several of the more experienced teachers had decided to mentor him in the more arcane methods of student management and could be counted upon to back him up when Dumbledore tried to blatantly favour his House in matters of discipline. Best of all, it meant a ready-made reason to play the piano, and Severus was gratified at how quickly his lessons were coming back to him.

He had been fiddling with a particularly tricky passage when a slim hand slid past his own and elegantly picked out the melody. Glancing up, Severus was startled to see that the limb belonged to none other than Minerva McGonagall.

She smirked slightly when she saw his expression. "You're not the only one who can play around here, you know."

"And here I thought I was the only one who benefited from a more… polyphonic approach to early education."

"Our numbers are few but mighty," McGonagall retorted. "And I'll not let you butcher Tovey like that. If you are going to play something by a Scotsman in my hearing, you'd best do it right. Budge over and I'll show you how it's done."

Despite himself, Severus was amused at the older woman's manner; he knew that she wasn't nearly as haughty as she put on, but it felt odd to have her interact with him in such a congenial fashion. Obligingly, he scooted over and she sat on the padded bench, wincing.

"Nimue's nickers, but this bench is uncomfortable. It feels like someone has hexed the bloody thing…"

Severus aimed for blithe innocence. "And who would gain pleasure in committing such a petty, puerile deed?"

"Oh, I can think of one or two people," she said dryly and pulled out her wand. In a flash, she had cancelled his hex and transformed the surface into something far more supportive and comfortable, sighing in contentment as she did so.

"Now, pay attention…"

* * *

It was a strangely agreeable way to spend a quarter of an hour; Minerva had challenged him to a duet at the end, and they proved to be well-matched as partners.

"Where did you learn to play?" Severus asked, surprising the both of them with the question.

She gave the fallboard a fond stroke. "From my father. He was a rather musically disposed vicar, and I played most Sundays in the kirk until I came to Hogwarts. After that…" Sorrow deepened the emerald of her eyes. "Well, after that things became a great deal more thorny, and I played only occasionally."

Severus had forgotten that she was a Half-Blood just as he was, and her regret at paths untaken tugged at something within him rather uncomfortably; it was too close to the circumstances of his own past to sit comfortably.

"Our duality causes all sorts of complications, doesn't it?" he mused rhetorically. "Far easier to be one or the other, I would think…"

McGonagall cocked her head, staring at him for a long moment. "Perhaps." Her voice turned sardonic. "Alas, as both a woman and a witch, I've found that one can never escape the inherent complications of societal dichotomies, however much one tries."

"Freud had quite a few things to say on that subject…" Severus retorted slyly, unable to resist poking at the woman.

"Freud was full of shite, and you know it. Far better to read Mary Wollstonecraft if you are going to waste time on Muggle philosophy."

He tsked disapprovingly. "For shame, Professor. Isn't the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake a sacred duty?"

"Oh, don't lay it on too thick…" With admirable swiftness, she changed the subject. "Speaking of education, how on earth did you to learn play? I don't remember your Mam being musically inclined."

Snape looked down at his pale hands, still curved over the alternating pattern of black and white keys. For all that it was a simple question, the answer was anything but; he could lie, or he could answer it truthfully and risk giving himself away. Minerva McGonagall had long known who and what Snape was—and more importantly, what he had been. She was a smart woman, and the thought of her piecing together the truth of what he had done was terrifying.

_Ah, but the time for pride has passed, hasn't it? She's as good as Dumbledore's second, and you need her to see you as something other than a monster and a Death Eater. This isn't about you. It's about protecting Lily, and if McGonagall believes what you have to say, then Lily is all the safer…_

"No. My mother had no love for music. My father did, although that wasn't something I learned until well after I started playing." Severus swallowed, forcing the next sentence out. "Lily… Lily's mum taught me, actually."

For the second time that afternoon, his words surprised McGonagall. He saw the myriad of questions that his reply provoked, but to his own astonishment she gave him an easy out.

"That must be quite the story."

The dominant smells of the Evans' parlour rushed back to him then: lemon cleaning oil and fresh baking, with just a hint of starch from the wash. Then there was the ever-present burble of the kitchen radio and Lily turning the pages of a book as she sprawled out on the floor next to the piano…. He'd never been a happy child, but those stolen moments had been the closest thing to bliss he'd ever experienced.

"I suppose it is."


	2. First Notes

_April 1969_

The fickle spring breeze finally closed the distance between his hand and her shining claret strands of hair, and it took all of his willpower not to wrap the silky stuff around his fingers as it gently tickled his palm. He had been edging closer for almost twenty minutes in a quest to touch it; Lily was unmindful to his movements as she fiddled with a bit of stick and twine, chattering away about some play yard drama.

They lay in their special clearing by the canal, basking like a pair of lizards in the unseasonably warm temperatures. Although there was a sharp rock under his back, and Severus could feel a bit of damp creeping through the sleeve of his jacket, he didn't care. All that mattered was the sensation of her hair on his skin; he could swear that he could feel the thrilling tingle of her magic as it rippled in the sunlight.

Abruptly she rolled from her back to her side, red hair flipping away over her shoulder as she turned to face him. Biting her lip anxiously, she stared at him.

"Sev…" she said haltingly, and then reached out to grab his hand. "It'll come, right?"

He blinked, nearly overwhelmed by her simple touch. "Huh?"

"My letter. It'll come on my birthday…"

"Yes," Sev said fiercely, suddenly sure and full of purpose. "You are a witch, and witches belong at Hogwarts. You'll get your letter, and then we'll go off to school together. I promise."

She gazed at him, equal parts hope and fear. "I'm just scared. What if it doesn't come, or I'm not any good at magic? What if no one likes me?"

Severus sat up, tugging her upright with their intertwined hands. "I've seen your magic, Lily. It's bright and strong and so lovely…" he trailed off, feeling his cheeks heat. "You are a witch. You will be good at magic. And I like you, so why does it matter what anyone else thinks? I will always be your friend."

Lily smiled then and squeezed his hand. "I know I'm being a silly goose…"

A crack startled them both, and Petunia bullied her way into the space; her glower seemed to suck all the joy out of the air. "You'll be a cooked goose if you don't get home right now. Mum's been waiting for you for almost a half an hour."

Lily groaned. "Oh, no, I forgot that I was supposed to practice today!"

Tunie smirked. "She's pretty cross with you…"

Lily scrambled to her feet, brushing off the dirt. Severus did the same, glaring at Petunia. _Why does she always have to interrupt?_ Correctly reading his expression, the darker girl scowled right back at him.

"Come on," Lily called, beckoning him forward. She retook his hand, pulling him back onto the path. "Are you coming, Tunie?"

"No. I've already practised for the day. Mum said I could do whatever I wanted, and I certainly don't want to hang out with him." Petunia made an ugly face and a sweeping, dismissive gesture with her bony hands.

"Well, I don't want to hang out with you either," Severus shot back.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Ignore her, Sev. She's just jealous." She pulled on his arm and he obligingly started after her. "Since she's determined to be useless, you can help me practice by turning the pages of music."

"Practice what?" he asked, feeling a prickle of unease at the thought of going in the Evans house.

"The piano, silly. I have a recital in two weeks."

* * *

Before he could muster up any coherent objections, Severus found himself standing awkwardly in the Evans' parlour. Mrs Evans sat in front of a piano, flipping through a large stack of paper. She gave Lily a mildly reproving look at their tardy entrance.

"Darling, I expected you home quite awhile ago."

"Sorry, Mum. I was so busy telling Sev all about the recital that I forgot about the time."

Severus nodded, trying to appear as though Lily's excuse wasn't news to him. Mrs Evans sighed and patted the bench. "Lily, you need to be more aware of how your behaviour affects others. I had plans too this afternoon, you know."

"Mum, I am sorry. I'll practice longer to make up for it, alright?"

"That's not the point, dear."

Lily walked over to her mother and put a skinny, freckled arm around her shoulders. Giving the older woman a quick buss on the cheek, she smiled. "Will you play something for Severus before I start? I told him all about how talented you are, and how you were even asked to play at Covent Garden when you were a girl…"

Mrs Evans' attention switched over to him, and Severus tried not to squirm under her keen gaze. "I'd like that," he mumbled. "If it's not too much trouble. I've never heard the piano 'scept in church."

A glint of humour appeared in her expression. "Well, we can't have that, now can we? There's so much more to the piano than heavy-handed hymns." She pushed Lily away and pointed to a spot on the floor. "I want you to listen carefully; I'll start teaching you some of the simpler sections of this after your recital. "

Lily grinned and gestured for Severus to sit next to her. He did so gingerly, painfully aware of how shabby his trousers were next to the fine furniture and rugs.

"I give you both Mozart's 'Rondo Alla Turca'."

Mrs Evans took in a slow breath, and suddenly her hands were sweeping gracefully over the piano like a pair of swallows. The parlour filled with music the likes he'd never heard before; Severus couldn't even find the words to describe it to himself.

It was rhythmic and martial, but at the same time, full of light, reminding him of the blooming spring outside. Parts of it were loud and bombastic, making his ears ring; other sections were tantalisingly delicate and intricate. All Severus could do was stare, his entire body fixed on the glorious music being created by Mrs Evans. Not since the first time he'd cast a proper spell had he been so enthralled.

With a theatrical flourish, Mrs Evans ended the song, twisting back to look at the children. Lily clapped enthusiastically, and he copied the movement robotically, still stunned.

"That was wonderful, Mummy!" Lily elbowed him, and he jerked. "Wasn't it, Sev?"

Mouth dry, he nodded. "It was. Thank you, Mrs Evans."

Seeing his reaction, Lily cocked her head, something close to calculation flashing through her bright green gaze. "Can you show him how to play something?"

"Lily, enough of your stalling..." her mother began.

She shook her head in rampant denial, red hair flying out wildly. "No, I'm not! Look at how much Sev liked listening to you play. I bet he'd love to learn! Please?"

Lily's Mum sighed again and then looked down at Severus. He stared down at his hands, fighting hard to keep the yearning from his face; he had no place in this room, and no business even touching the piano. But, oh if only he could…

"Well, young man, what say you? Do you want to give it a try?"

Startled, he snuck a covetous peek at the instrument. "Yes, ma'am. I'd like to try."

She gave in gracefully. "Come here, and I'll show you the basics. And Lily, don't think you won't be practising a full hour when we finish."

Lily grinned cheerfully, getting up and snagging a book from a low table. "I know, Mum."

On wobbly legs, Severus rose and sat down stiffly on the bench next to Mrs Evans. She smelled sweetly of lilac, and he became suddenly aware that his hands were dirty from their earlier explorations. Compared to her serene splendour, he felt particularly grubby.

If Mrs Evans was aware of his discomfort, she didn't show it. Patiently, she demonstrated all the various parts of the piano and how to hold his hands over the keys. He listened intently, trying to etch it into his memory.

"…Now, I just want you to experiment with pressing the keys and learning how they sound. Don't worry about making it sound like music, just get comfortable with the instrument."

Leaning forward with anticipation, Severus pressed a single white key. The vibrant resonance of the note seemed to linger in the warm air of the room, and he almost smiled. Then he hit one key after another, wincing at the discordant noise it was producing.

"That's it, dear. Try the foot pedals now."

But that didn't help either; no matter how he strung the keys together, there were only fleeting moments of harmony. He stopped, frustrated.

"Will you play a part of the song from before?" he asked.

She raised a delicate blonde eyebrow at the request but humoured him. "Observe carefully, I'll play the first section slowly."

She did so twice over, and Severus did his best to memorise the complex patterns that her hands were making. Firmly fixing the image in his mind's eye, he placed his fingers over the keys and tried to repeat the movements.

The effort was halting and excruciatingly amateur, but it was recognisably the same tune. Biting his lip, Severus bent over the keys again, listening hard for the mistakes and speeding up as he gained more confidence. He practised it over and over until he was playing it properly; with a proud smile, he turned to Mrs Evans.

She was watching him with a queer, almost hurt expression, and Severus snatched his hands back from the keys as if he'd been scalded. He darted a wary glance to Lily, who was utterly lost in her book.

_What have I done wrong?_

Mrs Evans' soft voice drew him back. "It appears that you have a gift for music, Severus."

Severus said nothing, lost for words. _Is she mad at me? Is that a bad thing?_ After all, the first time he had accidentally shown his ability for magic to his Da, both his parents had been furious. _Could this be the same thing?_

"Shall I show you a bit more?"

He nodded, hands unclenching. _Maybe she's not mad at me after all…_

Music filled the air again, and Severus stopped worrying about anything but the spell of the piano.

* * *

Over the course of several months, Mrs Evans taught him how to read sheet music. He quickly leapfrogged both Lily and Petunia in terms of skill, and Lily gradually stopped playing. Often, she would read by the piano as he practised, and he came to love those rare days when he could empty his mind of everything but music and friendship.

One afternoon just after his tenth birthday, he overheard a most peculiar conversation. Lily had run upstairs to fetch a new book when Mr Evans unexpectedly walked in. Severus was startled; he had seen the man only a handful of times and wondered if he should leave. But he just gave him a brusque nod and continued into the kitchen.

Severus continued to play, straining his ears to catch the conversation.

"Well?" Mrs Evans asked.

"It's no use. I've spoken with the Headmaster, and they have no bursary spots open for next year."

"Is there any way..?"

"No, Mary. It's not as if we can afford to pay for him to go. Things are too unstable as it is with the mills closing. Besides, you said his mother wouldn't hear of trying to send him to St. Cecilia's, never mind apply."

"It's just such a waste. The boy has so much talent, and it's such an excellent music programme. If he were to audition, I know he would be offered a place!"

"There's no use tilting at windmills, dear. Talented or no, you've done all you can."

Severus felt his stomach give an odd lurch; they were speaking about him. Vaguely, he recalled that St. Cecilia's was a Catholic public school in the next village over.

_But I'm a wizard, and I'm going to Hogwarts, he thought. Not some stupid local secondary…_

It occurred to him then that once he left for Hogwarts, he might have to stop playing the piano altogether. Hogwarts might not even have a piano; his Mum had never mentioned anything of the sort.

The thought hurt. Severus had come to value playing the piano almost as much as his clandestine magic lessons. Really, playing was just a different kind of magic.

_But Lily is going to Hogwarts. Even if I did go to St. Cecilia's, she wouldn't come with me…_

He stared at the shiny, lemon-scented surface of the piano, a little piece of his heart breaking.

_It doesn't matter. I'm a wizard. And Lily and I are going to Hogwarts together. I can always play when I come home in the summer. Anyway, I probably won't even like the piano once I start learning magic for real._

Lily thundered down the stairs, jumper in hand. "Come on, Sev. I want to go outside. It's finally stopped raining."

"Yeah, all right."

* * *

Severus didn't forget the conversation that he had overheard. As a result, playing the piano became an exercise in bittersweet restraint. Over the course of the following year, he began to consciously limit how often he practised until it was no more than once a week; after his upcoming eleventh birthday, he vowed to cut it down even further.

Increasingly, he dreamt of fleeing to Hogwarts with Lily. His Da had lost his job, and was rarely able to find day work; consequently, his parents were fighting almost all of the time, and Severus made it his goal not to be seen by the elder Snape lest the violence rain down upon him, too.

It was shaping up to be miserable Christmas, both materially and in spirit. Severus sat glumly in their tiny parlour, cutting snowflakes from old newsprint as his Mam knitted a pair of new socks.

A flash of green out the window caught his attention. Half rising, he saw a familiar Morris Minor pull to the kerb. To his disbelief, Mrs Evans got out of the car, Lily and Petunia trailing after her like bewildered ducklings. The older woman wore a bright red wool coat, the vivid colour standing in firm contrast to the dreary neighbourhood.

His Mam had likewise seen the visitors coming up the front stoop, and shot Severus a stern look. "Have you done something you ought not, boy?"

Severus crumpled the bit of newspaper up in his hand, feeling sick. "No… no, I don't think so."

Mrs Evans knocked at the door, and his Mam levelled another hard glare before getting up. Saying nothing further, she opened the door.

"Hello, Mrs Snape," Mrs Evans said cheerfully. "I know this quite the imposition, but may we come in for just a moment?"

"You might as well, or you'll freeze to the bitumen and give us all a show."

Mrs Evans laughed as if it were a joke and pulled the girls in behind her. Both of them were wearing their Sunday finest; Lily in a hunter green overcoat, and Petunia in purple. Resolutely, Severus did not let any of his embarrassment show as Petunia disdainfully looked around. Lily was far more neutral in her assessment, and he wondered if he'd be subjected to a round of questioning the next time they were alone.

They looked terribly out of place, but Mrs Evans at least seemed comfortable enough in her surroundings. "My," she began, gesturing graciously to the threadbare furniture and faded wallpaper. "…You certainly do keep a tidy house. That must be quite the battle with such an active son, and I can only imagine that his father isn't much different."

Eileen offered a thin smile. "My husband regularly accuses me of using magic."

Mrs Evans chuckled again, and Severus winced, knowing his Mam wasn't trying to be funny or friendly.

"Husbands always think anything they don't know how to do is witchcraft, don't they?"

"Oh, ay. That or useless."

Undaunted by the lack of warmth, Lily's mother went on. "Well, as I said, I don't want to bother you, but I have a bit of an odd favour to ask. You see, Philip—that is, Mr Evans—has managed to land a Christmas miracle of his own. He's surprised us with a last minute trip to Paris for the week. We leave tonight- we're flying on an aeroplane if you can believe it. I'm rather nervous. Have you flown on one before?"

His Mum looked at the other woman steadily. "No, I've not flown on an aeroplane."

"Neither of have I… anyway, that's neither here nor there. You see, the problem is that I've already done the shopping and a good deal of the cooking for Christmas, but now we've no need for it. It'll spoil if we can't find a place for it. I was wondering if you could incorporate it into your feast, or baring that, hand it out to those who might otherwise go without."

His Mam's countenance turned stony, and Severus felt a flush of shame creep over his features. They needed the food, and Mrs Evans had to know that. It was as plain to see as the Prince nose that sat upon his face. But to accept charity as such? It was inconceivable.

Twisting a glove in one hand, Mrs Evans continued in a beseeching voice. "I know it's terribly old-fashioned of me, but after spending so many years either not having enough food because of war or rationing, I can't bear the thought of all that food going to waste. Frankly, it'll ruin the whole holiday."

As if on cue, Severus' stomach rumbled loudly; breakfast had been a scant helping of beans and toast, and there had been nothing for lunch. His mother's face whitened, but she did not make any other acknowledgement of the noise.

"There are even the ingredients for Yorkshire pudding," Lily interjected suddenly, stepping forward. She sent his mam a wistful smile. "Sev says you make the best Yorkshire pudding in all of England. He practically drools when he talks about it."

For a moment, the only sound in the house was the tick of the hall clock. Then his mam gave an unladylike snort, rolling her eyes. "He'll try and eat the entire pan if I don't stop him."

Mrs Evans gave him a wry once over. "With the way he's been shooting up lately, I rather imagine he'd try for the pan, too."

Eileen smirked, appearing genuinely amused for the first time. "Ay, followed shortly by the table, and then the chairs."

"Allow me to propose a trade, then. You take the dinner, and when we return, you teach me to make a proper Yorkshire pudding. I'm hopeless- it either burns or falls completely flat. My husband despairs of us ever having a true Sunday roast."

Severus' mouth began to water just thinking of the possibility of all that food sitting on their table, and couldn't help but glance at his Mam hopefully.

She didn't like it, but Mrs Evan's notion saved enough face to be palatable. "As you wish, although I warn you that I'm no natural teacher. We may burn a pot or two until we get it right."

Mrs Evans beamed. "Oh, that's simply marvellous, I can't thank you enough..."

* * *

It took three trips to the car to carry in the boxes. Not only was there a large hunk of beef for roasting, but everything else to complete the supper from tinned fruit to a set of posh Christmas crackers. Once the Evans' had left, his Mam sat down in her chair again, looking dazed at the bounty.

"Go fetch your Da," she finally said blankly, holding a bag of parsnips. "Tell him they'll be supper."

Grabbing his battered jacket from the hook, Severus ducked out the kitchen door and down the back alley towards the square. He could hear the noise from the pub where his Da held court before he could see it. Entering through the back door, he grimaced at the lingering smell of piss.

The crowded room was murky with men and fumes, the ground littered with peanut shells. Letting his eyes adjust, he stood in the corner for a long moment. A battered black piano a few feet away caught his attention, and he realised with a lurch that with the Evans' gone, it would likely be several weeks before he could play again.

Without meaning to he drifted closer, coming to rest in front of the chipped keys. Carefully, he pressed the middle c. The sound wasn't half bad. Out of nowhere, someone squeezed his arm hard. "Play something, boy!" a drunk ordered, lurching against the wall. "You 'eard me. Play!"

Mechanically, Severus began to softly finger the first tune that popped into his head, an old Christmas folk song that Mrs Evans had been teaching him the previous week.

To his horror, the pub went utterly still at the sound of the notes.

His Da materialised like a vengeful god, and Severus stopped, swallowing hard. Black eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his son standing at the piano, Toby Snape strode forward, pint in hand.

"You think you can play?" his father asked, a hint of something nasty lurking in the challenge.

"Only a bit, sir," Severus replied, voice cracking.

"Go on, then. Give us a show."

Severus turned back to the piano with shaking hands; if he messed this up, he knew that his Da would belt him something awful. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that he was in the safety of the Evans' front room and not in the busy bar.

The first several bars of 'The Holly and The Ivy' were less than perfect. Heart pounding like an out of control drum, Severus fought for control, and the music gradually evened out. He managed to finish it with a bit of a flourish, working the sticky foot pedals hard for effect.

The pub had stayed quiet, and it felt like forever for his judgement to come.

"Well, will you look at that, Toby…" one the barkeep announced. "…Your boy is just a chip off the old block, ay?"

Severus looked at his father, confused. His old man put his pint down and gripped Severus' thin shoulder tightly.

"Play it again," he ordered. "No mistakes this time."

He returned to the keys with more confidence, the start of the song coming out strong and true. So focused was he on the piano that Severus jerked badly when the lovely, deep baritone began to accompany him.

It was his father.

"The holly and the ivy," the man sang, resonate voice in perfect harmony with the piano. "…When they are both full grown, of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown..."

His Da's rising and falling voice wove a spell around the gathered men. The foul smells and dank atmosphere disappeared; there was something almost holy in the way his singing and the tune came together. On the third refrain, a man standing by the front window joined in, and steadily, the rest of the patrons followed suit.

Severus finished the song with a smile; no longer was the meaty hand on his shoulder a threat. For once, it felt nice. His father also looked satisfied, especially as requests for other songs started raining down.

"Do you know any of the tunes they're asking for?" he asked, peering down at Severus with a downright friendly smirk.

"No sir."

His Da shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, I suppose I'll 'ave to teach ya."

Severus grinned, feeling giddy at the unexpected reply.

"What's your Mam want?" Toby asked more gruffly.

"She sent me to tell you there's supper waiting."

A suspicious brow went up at that; Toby knew that was little food to be found in the Snape household. The press of onlookers prevented him from inquiring further, however.

"Can't keep the missus waiting, then can I?" he announced, and there was a general muttering of manly laughter. Toby settled his accounts quickly, and escorted Severus from the bar almost before he could catch his breath.

Severus braced himself for an interrogation, but his father stayed silent until they were halfway home.

"My Father—your Grandfather—could play the piano, and a band's worth of instruments besides," he finally told Severus in a contemplative tone. "He always said that the Snapes were descended from a long line of Northern bards, and that any Snape worth his salt would have something of the music in him."

Not knowing how to respond, Severus nodded. "I didn't know you could sing like that. It was… amazing."

"Phhh," he spat. "…I've always had perfect pitch. You should hear me when I've not spent a night in a smoky pub drinking. My old man used to say that I could sing the knickers off a nun."

"Will you teach me?" Severus asked suddenly. "Those songs the men in the pub were asking for?"

His Da gave a sharp nod. "Ay, I will. No use being a Snape if you don't know your music."

* * *

Even without Lily, it proved to be the sweetest Christmas that Severus could recall. His Mam managed to parcel out the food until New Year's, and his Da took him to the pub each morning to learn the folk songs that his own father had taught him.

Toby was an indifferent player at best, but Severus only needed to hear him sing the tune to be able to work out the fingering. His Da was proud of that ability and boasted of it to his cronies. The bragging resulted in an impromptu concert one evening, and Severus found himself beaming ear to ear as they were toasted with pint after pint; it was a type of acceptance that he had never experienced before.

His birthday dawned cold and clear, and he scrambled down the stairs to find only his mother in the kitchen. She had her back to him, flipping several flapjacks on the hob.

"Good morning," he said carefully, noting how tense she was.

"Happy birthday," she responded dispassionately. "You've got your letter." It hit the table next to his hand. Severus stared at the heavy white envelope and fine crest, excited and terrified all at once. He touched it gently but did not break the wax seal.

"Where's Da?"

"Out." She deftly put the hot flapjacks on a plate and then opened a tin of peaches. Placing several of the golden slices on top, she slid the food across the table to him.

"Did he see it?" Severus asked dully, understanding that things had irrevocably soured… and why.

"Yes." His Mam took a cup of tea from the counter and walked from the room, leaving Severus to eat alone.

His father never took him to the pub to play again. Nor did they ever discuss music.

* * *

Twenty-one days later, Lily Evans received her Hogwarts letter. Her parents were utterly gobsmacked, but very proud to have a witch in the family.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? Any thoughts?
> 
> Mozart's 'Rondo Alla Turca'- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=geER3iQDO5k


	3. A Refrain

_2 November 1986_

Minerva had the cunning to finally corner him outside of the Castle.

Snape had just slunk out of the apothecary- having run out of the ingredients for Sober-Up Potion for a record third time in one week- when the Deputy Headmistress came barrelling down the sidewalk and snatched his arm. Without any warning, the woman Apparated them out of Hogsmeade and next to a small stone kirk perched on a cliff overlooking the swirling silver sea.

The compression and chaos of the journey did not do his pounding head any favours. Snape found himself on the stony ground violently expelling the contents of his stomach. With petty satisfaction, he saw that the acidic splatter ruined the pristine shine of Minerva's boots.

To give her credit, she didn't so much as flinch at the mess, merely throwing up a shielding charm and proffering a snowy white handkerchief for him to wipe at his face when finished. Shakily, he pulled himself up to his knees, and she wordlessly handed him a deep blue phial with a challenging tilt of her head.

He didn't bother to ask what it was; if she truly wished to poison him, he would make no objection. The jumble of flavours was utterly atrocious, and he catalogued the brew gurgling down his gullet as a mixture of Sober-Up, calming draught and a wit sharpener. Homemade, then, he mused as the world seemed to tilt and then settle back on its axis with a dull thud. In the dying light of the day, it was impossible to make out their location, but he reckoned they were still in Scotland.

"Where are we?" he asked flatly, feeling like he should display some displeasure at being summarily kidnapped and dragged about the countryside.

"Mull," she responded succinctly and vanished the sick at her feet.

From the corner of his eye, Snape saw a wizened old man step out of the kirk and stiffened at the sight of the Muggle. Seeing the movement, Minerva turned and then relaxed.

"It's my father. He's the vicar."

"And why," he inquired icily, dredging up the remains of his ire, "…have we travelled to scenic and windswept Mull to visit such an august personage as your father?"

Compressing her lips at his mutinous expression, she pointed towards the heavy wooden doors of the church. "In, and I will tell you. Don't make me force you, laddo. You're not the only one who is quick with a wand, and I needn't remind you that you've already proven yourself rather slow on the uptake once tonight."

It was a tense standoff before Snape gave in with a dismissive shrug. _Why the fuck do I care what she wants? The quicker this ends, the faster I can return to my rooms…_

The dungeon quarters that he called home were the only place that he could find something approaching solace and that only because he could drink himself into a stupor. Snape had lived in the bottle for five years and two days; five years and two endless days since his massive failure, since Lily had been murdered and the Dark Lord was taken down by his own curse.

There had been no hint on that dreadful night that the world was about to come crashing down. Indeed, he had been rather bored until his Dark Mark had exploded into a fiery paroxysm of agony right in the middle of the Halloween Feast. Seeing his condition and accurately guessing at the cause, Albus had locked him into the Headmaster's office and swiftly disappeared in a billow of phoenix flames. Alone, the pain of the Dark Mark had almost driven Snape mad. In an effort to dull the horror he had drunk the office dry and made a credible attempt at hacking his arm off before eventually passing out.

Snape had awoken three days later in the Hospital Ward. A sympathetic Poppy Pomfrey had told him of events, and he had promptly fucked off to his rooms to drown himself in an epic bender. It had ended when the Aurors had arrested him on charges of high treason and being a Death Eater.

At the last possible minute, Albus had stepped in and saved him from being sentenced to a slow but ultimately welcome death in Azkaban. Plopped directly back into his teaching and Head of House duties, Snape was left to muddle along as of nothing had happened.

Grief, guilt and shame were his constant companions. Visions of Lily haunted him at every turn, and he did his damnedest to eradicate his remaining emotions and connections. Drinking became his only outlet, and if the jaundiced hue of his skin was anything to go by, it would be the death of him sooner rather than later. _Assuming, of course, that the meddling, know-it-all, goody-two-shoes that I am surrounded by don't interfere… which given the events of today, seems quite unlikely. It appears that an intervention is the order of the evening. Well, good luck with that one, ducky! Unless you can bring back the dead, you haven't a snowball's chance in hell..._

Giving Minerva a sour look, he entered the shadowy kirk, granting her father a brusque nod of acknowledgement as he glided past. She stayed hard on his heels the entire way in and only backed off once the doors had been shut and firmly locked behind them.

The chapel was dim and cool, the rolling swish of the waves and wind suddenly stifled by the thick stone walls. Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest; Snape couldn't recall the last time he had stepped foot in a church. A rustle to his left indicated that Minerva was at last moving away, and after a moment, he heard the familiar rasp of a match and caught a whiff of phosphorous.

One fragile golden flame gave birth to another as Minerva carefully lit a dozen beeswax votives. The gentle light was kind to her visage, wiping away several decades and gifting her with a particular sort of innocence. To his surprise, she knelt reverently and clasped her hands in prayer; the sudden wave of sorrow on her face was enough to make him take a jerky step back, instinctively searching for anything else to focus on.

Her father had lit a long taper and was laboriously making his way up the aisle, a hip ailment shortening his gait into a mincing step. A dozen or so pews lined the path up to the altar and Snape watched the old man's slow journey with his gut churning restlessly. With a nearly silent grunt, the vicar heaved himself up the five stairs that separated the altar from the rest of the chapel. As the wavering light filled the top of the kirk, Severus felt himself go utterly cold.

There, in a place of honour to the right of the lectern, was a beautiful, distinctly antique and much-loved grand piano. The well-polished wood seemed to glow with promise, and it was like being hit by a slicing hex. _Five years_ , he recalled painfully, _five years and three days since I have last played the piano…_

He hadn't even been able to go in the bloody staff room for the first two years following Lily's murder. The silent hulk of a piano had been a reproachful, punitive reminder of the horror that he had wrought. It made him ill to even catch sight of the ruddy instrument; after all, he had repaid all of Mrs Evans' generosity and kindness by getting her daughter murdered. Shamefully, Snape wondered if she knew of his part in Lily's death. Had he ruined the magic of music for her, too?

A whisper of tartan drew his attention back to Minerva, and he saw that her expression was direct and determined as she rose from her knees.

"Why have you brought me here?" he hissed, already knowing the answer.

Instead of replying, she parried with her own question. "Do you know what day it is, Severus?"

"November the second, nineteen eighty-six," he shot back, feeling a frisson of rage raise the hair at his nape.

"It's All Souls' Day," she continued calmly. "A day to mourn those who have passed before us."

It took a monumental effort to still his first response- _you can sod off with your ruddy talk of souls!_ \- and he settled on a silent glare, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Deputy Headmistress was utterly unaffected by his attitude. "I brought you here tonight because you need to grieve. Severus…" Unexpectedly, her voice broke, a rare emotion rippling through his name. "…you can't go on like this…"

"I. Don't. Care," he enunciated pedantically, hands tightening into fists.

"Yes, you do," she murmured, reaching out to touch him. Defiantly, he angled out of range, and Minerva merely shook her head, arm dropping. "I know that you loved her…"

"You know nothing!" he bellowed, voice rebounding off the walls shrilly. In the wake of the sound, the candles flickered.

Her large, dark eyes were fathomless as she watched him. "I understand what it is like to lose someone you hold most dear. More importantly, I also know this: her son still lives, and our fight is not over. He is not gone. You know this, Severus. You still bear His Mark."

Severus could not speak, feeling as if all of the terrible sentiment bottled up inside of him would come bursting out in a river of pain and hate if he uttered so much as a single syllable.

"It is an absolutely appalling thing to ask of you, Severus, but you must survive this loss. You must live… we don't have any hope of winning if you aren't on our side."

Then she did touch him, cupping his cheek gently before letting her hand drop his pounding heart. "Grieve. Play. Say good-bye. Somehow, you must figure out how to become human again."

"You ask so little of me," he finally choked out, belatedly realising that he was panting rapidly in all his righteous fury.

"I know," Minerva whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I know, Severus, and I am so sorry. For so many things… but you must. We all have our parts, and we have to carry on."

Wiping her face, she spoke in brisker tones. "I've warded the kirk so that no one will enter, and no lasting harm can be done by spell or by force. I'll be with my father in the rectory." Without another word, she turned and left him alone in the dark but for the flickering of the votives.

* * *

There was very little he remembered about that endless night; he could recall only flashes of being sprawled out on the cold stone floor on his knees, begging for forgiveness, and screaming at the gods- screaming for anyone- to just listen to him. But there were no Faustian bargains to be made, and eventually, he found himself spent and trembling on the padded bench of the kirk's piano.

Mingled tears and sweat dripped onto the gleaming wood, landing with greasy splats. Severus did not dare touch the keyboard at first, feeling as though his long-fingered hands would despoil it as they had so much else. Like a magnet, the instrument drew his hands ever forward, and slowly, cautiously, he stroked the middle C. The note that rang out, redolent with magic- with his magic- rippled down his spine and through the kirk like a clarion bell. It loosened something in his chest, and he found that he suddenly could inhale more fully. Closing his eyes, he reached for the music swirling within; he reached for Lily, and the compassion and love and friendship that had bound him up so unequivocally. He deliberately drew forth the memories of time spent with her mother, and the joy that Mrs Evans had imparted on him during their lessons. Severus even resurrected those few halcyon days in which he had been in favour with his own father. With those memories hanging thick and heavy in the night air, he began to play.

At first, it was nothing more complicated than the scales, and then he moved on to a series of simple, juvenile variations. The effect was like turning on a tap, and after an hour he found himself all manner of tunes pouring from his fingers. Each spoke of a precious memory, recalling rainy, contented afternoons, of sneaking out to the park and lounging by the canal, of magical discoveries made over his Mam's old school books. It hurt, this recollection, but for the first time in a long time, it was a clean pain. Purifying, even. He found something in it; not peace, exactly, but a re-dedication to the cause. Severus' understood that his failures were not yet final. It was as Minerva had said- the first battle was over, but not the war and Severus Tobias Snape had a vital role to play within it.

He was playing the third movement to Prokofiev's sixth sonata when the rising sun illuminated the patterns of purple thistle in the stained glass windows. Like a benediction, the chapel slowly filled with a delicate, lavender light; letting the final notes of the song linger in the dawn air, Severus allowed a last wash of tears and then tucked that part of himself away forever.

With a lingering caress, he closed the fallboard and stiffly made his way to the rectory. Minerva had a hot breakfast waiting for him.

* * *

_7 September 1992_

The first note always hurt, but after that night, he returned to playing regularly. Minerva joined him for duets occasionally, and very rarely, he would consent to both sing and play; it turned out that he had not just the Snape facility for performing, but his father's grand voice as well.

Over the course of the next several years, Severus also discovered the joy of skewering people through music. Granted, most of his targets did not recognise that he was making fun of them—his tendency to play Muggle music almost guaranteed it—but inevitably, at least one person would appreciate the point made.

Severus had just started to pick through his collection of sheet music when a pompous voice sounded off behind him.

"I say, Severus old chap, do you play?"

"No," he drawled, allowing the disdain to drip from his tone. "I simply enjoy fussing about with things that I don't understand."

Gilderoy Lockhart made a sympathetic moue as he buffed his nails. "Not very good then, eh? That's a pity. I must admit, music is one of the few areas I've yet to master despite my great delight of it. I have quite the ear, you know. Why I can tell you right off the bat if something is quality or not. It's an absolute pity that my crusade against all things dark and foul has limited my free time to polish up such hobbies…"

With a sneer, Severus chose his first piece of the evening. For a moment he was tempted to let the blithering numpty's words hang in the air like a foul stench, but remembering a line from the book he had just seen, spoke again. "I suppose that if you had ever learnt, you would have been a great proficient, what with your true enjoyment and natural taste..."

Lockhart nodded sagely. "Precisely."

From the corner, Charity Burbage burst into laughter, placing a well-worn copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' down with a purposeful thump. Making eye contact, Charity raised a mocking brow. _Playing the role of Lady Catherine de Bourgh tonight is Gildroy Lockhart…_

In agreement, Severus rolled his eyes at the man's unchecked absurdity and began playing Bach's 'Toccata and Fugue in D Minor'. If they were going to have to listen to something so painfully camp and outré all year, the room might as well have the proper soundtrack for it.

* * *

_12 September 1993_

It had been over a week since Snape had set foot in the staff room; with Lupin's gloating presence, it was no longer a safe space for either socialising or playing. He seethed at the very thought of the man- _that creature!_ \- back at Hogwarts, not to mention teaching at the school. Indeed, Albus had gone completely mad to think that having a fucking werewolf on staff would end in anything but disaster.

His temper was not improved by Lupin's dramatic retelling of the form taken by Longbottom's bloody boggart just a week into term. It had been presented as a splendid joke for the amusement of the rest of the faculty, but in reality, it had just been another salvo in the on-going war between them. Alas, it had taken a bit of time to come up with something subtly humiliating enough to be used for payback; it was doubly pleasing to Snape that the action would also needle Albus to no end.

Banging into the staff room in a manner guaranteed to raise both attention and eyebrows, Snape was satisfied to see that the room was very nearly full. Without acknowledging any of the greetings, he sat down at the piano and began to play.

The tune was… different. Modern rock, to be precise. And it was Albus, bless his conspiratorial, manipulative little soul who fell neatly into his trap.

"Severus, that is quite a singular sound. What are you playing?"

Snape finished the song and then began making notes on the sheet music. "It's a composition by a Mr Warren Zevon, late of America. It's called 'Werewolves of London'. Shall I sing along with it?"

Without waiting for a response, Snape launched back into the tune.

_I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand_

_Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain_   
_He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's_   
_Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein._

_Aaoooooo!_   
_Werewolves of London!_   
_Aaoooooo!_

Snape put a particular relish on the last 'Aaoooo', and then paused, shifting back to glance at Albus and Lupin. The Headmaster was trying not to look irate—Merlin forbid he give the whole game away this early in the term—and Lupin had turned a ruddy, pleasing shade of red.

"It goes on like that for a bit," he informed them gleefully. "Some of the verses are quite creative, actually."

From the centre of the crowded table, a delightfully ignorant Rolanda Hooch gave an exuberant cackle. "I rather like that song. It's got a bit of pep in it, doesn't it? Will you teach me the lyrics?"

"Of course, Rollie. Come sit with me…"

* * *

Naturally, Rolanda taught the song to her seventh years, who in turn taught it to the rest of the student body. The Castle was plagued by 'Aaoooooos' the remainder of the year.

* * *

_23 June 1995_

Even through the uncompromising white cotton of his button-down shirt, Snape fancied that he could see the Dark Mark imprinted on his forearm. The tattoo had grown steadily darker over the course of the school year, and now it stood out in vivid indigo contrast to his pale flesh. It sickened him, both for what it originally represented and what the deepening colour meant for Wizarding Britain.

The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament was planned for the morning, and Snape couldn't help but feel they were hurtling towards some ghastly doom; he had argued, and pleaded, and finally begged Albus to cancel the ruddy thing, but the man would hear nothing of it.

And so Snape played the only thing that seemed appropriate: Liszt's Dante Sonata. The musical representation of wailing souls in Hell seemed horribly fitting; when else would the repeated use of the Devil's Tritone not be dissonant? The melancholy, shivering tune disturbed the assembled staff, even those who had never heard of Dante or his _Divine Comedy_. Minerva knew the song and what it referenced, however, and gave him a sharp look of rebuke. He flatly ignored it.

What was the bloody use of being a bellwether if no one listened?

* * *

_24 June 1995_

He was right, of course. It had been a trap. And now they were all as lost as any wailing soul circling the depths of Hell.

* * *

_17 July 1996_

A small part of Severus was highly amused to see Minerva chaffing so severely at Poppy's on-going restrictions; given that he was the one customarily hurt and residing in the Hospital Wing, it also made for a welcome change. While he hadn't wished for Minerva to take four stunners to the heart, seeing her sour reactions to weeks of Poppy's incessant fussing had certainly provided interesting… fodder.

"…I am not a bloody child, woman! Stop treating me as if I'm going to crumble into dust!"

"If you are going to use that tone with me, then you'd do well to remember that it's Madame Pomfrey, not 'woman'. And I'll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one!"

"Good afternoon, ladies," Snape drawled. Both women swivelled to face him, tempers delightfully high. He let his smile turn a shade more condescending. "As the Deputy Headmistress is feeling her confinement so keenly, I thought I would offer to take her for a short, supervised walk."

"Supervised?" Minerva hissed, the word coming out with a feline fury.

"What are you suggesting, Severus?" Poppy interjected, apparently wanting to be rid of her patient, if only for a little while.

"Not far- just over to the staff lounge," he answered smoothly. "I thought we might play the piano together for a bit."

As expected, both women softened, and Minerva actually appeared teary for an instant. _Gryffindors_ , he thought with an irritable sigh. _So utterly predictable…_

"That would be lovely," Poppy said. "But no more than an hour or two. I have to administer the next round of healing draughts at three."

Before the older woman could start to grumble again, Snape proffered a hand. "Shall we?"

Stiffly, Minerva acquiesced and somehow restrained herself from making further comment when handed her cane. Like any good gentlemen, Snape ignored her huffing and puffing as they made their way to the lounge; privately, he was concerned with how poorly she was still doing. _She's damned lucky not to be dead, and the Aurors were only half-hearted in their castings…_

"I am surprised," she finally stated, "…to find you in the Castle in July. You don't normally spend any of your summer holiday here."

"There are several healing unguents that I need to make for Miss Granger. I am also required to brew Wolfsbane, and I refuse to do so in my home or with my equipment."

"Hmph." Minerva made a Scottish noise, not liking the unspoken insult to Lupin.

"Curiosity also compelled me to see how you were faring under the tender ministrations of Madame Pomfrey," he noted slyly, unable to resist needling her.

That earned him an annoyed look, and he merely smirked.

"So," she muttered with some asperity, "…it was a matter of two birds and one stone, eh?"

"Something like that. " Minerva was right to be sceptical, he reflected; he had a multiplicity of reasons for visiting the school. _Most importantly, I've got to find out what Albus is doing. He's been too quiet as of late…_

"Well, whatever the reason, I am glad for your company."

There was an undercurrent of something darker in her words, and Severus slanted a glance at her. "Has our fearless leader been making himself scarce again?"

She pursed her lips, vivid green eyes as hard as malachite. "Something like that."

 _With her claws out, there was no hope of getting her to spill any of the Castle_ gossip _that he so badly needed. Later_ , he decided. _They'll be time to pry it out of her once she's calmed down…_

"I thought," he said in lighter tones as he opened the door, "…that I would finally teach you some of the northern folk tunes my father taught me, and in return, you could demonstrate some of the Scottish songs that you are always going on about."

Minerva wasn't fooled by the redirection. Still, some of the tension leaked from her frail frame as she hobbled to the bench. _So, whatever it is that Albus is doing, she doesn't want to talk about it, or Albus is leaving her out of the loop and she can't talk about it. Bloody brilliant…_

"And are you wanting the hymns or the more secular songs?"

"Either. Music is music."

She gave a snort. "Ahh, so you wouldn't be offended if we started with something Jacobean, then?"

Snape rolled his eyes at the blatant jab. "Hardly. Have you ever known me to be a monarchist?"

"No, but you have shown a preference for other pureblood movements in the past."

The offhanded comment hit him like a slap, and McGonagall winced as soon as it fell out of her mouth. "Severus, forgive me… I've been in such a foul mood as of late…"

His gaze was a great deal cooler than before. "Don't apologise. It's the truth."

"Be that as it may, it was both unkind and unwarranted."

He gave her points for appearing sincere, but that fact didn't stop the embers of his long-held anger from flaring up. _I am so god-damned tired of this. No matter what I do, my past is still thrown back in my face. I will always be the villain…_

A dozen responses flooded his mouth, and for an instant, he was tempted to lash out with the most obvious of them. _Had you done your ruddy job and protected all of the students, not just your precious Gryffindors, maybe I wouldn't have made the choices I did! Perhaps if I hadn't been made to feel like a worthless, greasy git my entire life, I wouldn't have chosen hate…_

But he said none of these things. After all this time, there wasn't a point, not really. It was useless to blame others for the toxic results of his own hubris and pride.

"We only have a limited amount of time before Poppy arrives to chide you back into bed," Snape said, focusing on the abstract golden oaken swirls of the piano's surface. "Why don't we get started?"

From behind him, there was nothing but a lengthy silence. Snape wondered if Minerva was actually going to breach the topic of their shared past. As a cloud floated over the sun and the room grew dim, she sighed, giving in. It was a conversation that she didn't want to have, and they both knew it.

* * *

 

By twenty to three, Minerva had visibly started to flag. Opening salvo aside, it had been a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon. It was clear that the Deputy Headmistress would be under Poppy's care for quite a while yet, and Snape suddenly felt weary at the untimely loss of another ally, however temporary.

Fingers unconsciously playing a tune, he tried to work out what the best approach to pull the required information out of the fragile woman was.

"'Abide with me', Severus? A curious choice…" she murmured tiredly, listening to the first few measures with a tilted head.

He jerked slightly, not realising that he had been playing the hymn. It had been one of the few religious songs that Mrs Evans had taught him, and while the tune was nothing special, Snape had always appreciated the lyrics. "Yes."

"Will you sing it for me?"

The request made him pause, some of the afternoon's hurt stirring in his chest. He could refuse. _But what would be the point in it?_ he thought for the second time in as many hours. _There is so little time left, and there is something appropriate in singing a song of suffering…_

"As you wish." Taking a breath in, he waited for his mind to empty and then reached for the music that always seemed to be humming under his skin.

 _Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;_  
 _The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide._  
 _When other helpers fail and comforts flee,_  
Help _of the helpless, O abide with me._

_Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;_   
_Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;_   
_Change and decay in all around I see;_   
_O Thou who changest not, abide with me..._

As the weight of the words hit him, Severus' fingers fell off the keys, leaving the song unfinished. He was so sick of it all. Sick of hiding, sick of playing games. Sick of the constant waste and people dying. _Change and decay, indeed! Sod this for a game of soldiers_ , he decided, impotence and fear abruptly coming to a head. _I need answers, and I don't have the time or energy to beat around the bush._

"Minerva, what is the old bastard up to?"

She stiffened at his language but didn't argue the underlying sentiment. "I don't know."

He snapped the fallboard shut with a jarring crack. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not." Seeing the raw fury in his expression, she reached a placating hand out. "Severus, I swear, I don't. Why do you think I've been so insufferable? Albus won't tell me a ruddy thing, and it's driving me mad."

"But you have a notion, don't you?" Snape said flatly, trying to rein in his emotions before they got the better of him.

"He's searching for something and has been since he was chased out of the Castle by Umbridge and the Ministry. That's all I've been able to piece together."

"Object or person?"

"Objects, I think."

"Atonement is all well and good, but I can't do this blind, Minerva," he spat.

"I know. And he'll tell us soon enough. He has to…"

"Does he?" he said mockingly. "Because if you recall he's kept us in the dark any number of times over the last several years."

"If he keeps something from us, it's for the greater good." Minerva's chin firmed stubbornly, and Severus reckoned that her injury had come at a most fortuitous time for Albus Dumbledore. An unharmed Minerva McGonagall would have never spouted that line of bullcrap, never mind been reduced to the role of a helpless and hapless woman.

His laugh was short and bitter. "If you insist." He put up a hand to forestall any further arguments. "Come. We need to get you back to Poppy before she attempts to put my head on a pike for keeping you out so long."

* * *

 

Snape had just decanted the base for Miss Granger's salve when the Headmaster's personal House-Elf popped into the room, trembling with terror.

"The Potions Master must come now! A most dreadful thing has happened!"

Putting the dirty cauldron down, he stepped forward, a feeling of dread filling him. "Calm yourself and tell me what has happened."

The elf shook his head wildly, ears flapping. "There is no time! The Potions Master must come now!" Without waiting for a response, the elf grabbed his hand and Apparated them both to the Headmaster's office.

Arriving in the centre of the room, he was shocked to see Dumbledore writhing on the floor in what appeared to be great agony. As a familiar whiff of dark magic filled the air, he caught sight of the man's newly blackened hand, a cracked, malevolent ring on his third finger.

Snape knew that any answers would come too late.

 _Theirs not to reason why_ , he thought dumbly, rubbing at his Dark Mark, _…but to do and die…_

* * *

 

_9 January 1997_

Three hours into his thirty-seventh year, Snape walked into the shadowy, empty staff room and sat down in front of the piano.

He felt… hollow.

_What of my soul?_

The room was cold and dark around him as freezing rain hit the windows with an icy rattle.

_What of my soul, Albus?_

Snape left the room without playing a single note.

* * *

 


	4. Pièce de Résistance

_1 May 1998_

The piano sat in a puddle of moonlight, the world reduced to stark black and white shapes around it.

The Headmaster walked into the room silently and shut the door, warding it against all but the House-Elves. With a near soundless sigh, he sat down on the padded bench, fingers lightly smoothing the worn velvet.

He was tired. Gods, but he was tired… and more than a little broken.

It had been over a year since he'd played the piano; he'd not even stepped foot into this room since killing Albus. Minerva hadn't tried to drag him out of his personal version of hell this go around. No, he had the feeling that she would have gladly poured the whiskey if it meant that he would drink himself to an early death.

The end had finally come, he knew. He only had to make it a few more short days and his Sisyphean attempt at atonement would be concluded. But he wasn't going to go quietly into that dark night. No, he would go down fighting, and as the end was so close, he would do so with the memories of love and friendship near to his heart, not frozen in the far reaches of his mind.

_Let the end be quick_ , he prayed, _and let me complete my task. May the boy live…_

For the last time, he let his fingers dance over the cool ivory rectangles; made the air sing and weep with all that would go unsaid and unacknowledged. He played until his fingers ached and cramped, until all the songs were gone and the sun had risen over the Black Lake.

He stopped only when the fundamental wrongness in the Castle's wardings sent a lance of nausea through him, making further playing impossible. A House-Elf popped into the room just as he closed the fallboard.

"Headmaster," the creature squeaked, ears twitching uncomfortably, "…It... has begun." Bowing his head, the Headmaster sent a final prayer into the ether. _Please… oh, please, let it be enough…_

Pulling his robes tightly to his cold body, he rose and made for the door. He stopped at the last moment, turning back to the instrument that had brought him so much pleasure and so much pain.

With a practised snap, he opened the padded bench and began to rifle through the volumes of music. It took several minutes to find the piece that he was looking for, and with a reverent hand, he opened it to the final song in the book. Carefully, he placed it on the music rack, charming it to stay in place.

If all went well, she would see it.

It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

The Headmaster left the room with a straight back and head held high.

* * *

_5 May 1998_

Minerva McGonagall, Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, walked into the staff lounge cautiously and with wand drawn; three days had not been enough time to completely clear the Castle of all hazards, and quite frankly, all of the dead and not-so-dead bodies. But the room was thankfully empty and untouched save for a few hex marks on the north-facing wall and single broken chair.

As it had done numerous times before, the ancient upright piano drew her attention, and with it came a flood of profound regret and grief.

_Oh, Severus…_

Christ, but the man had been a bastard when he'd set his mind to it. Complex and intensely private, he'd also been selfless to the point of masochism, wickedly, painfully brilliant, loyal to the bitter and bloody end… and her friend.

Or had been, until she'd turned her back to him.

Over the years, he'd shown her enough of his anguish, of his guilt, that she should have seen behind the Death Eater façade. Hell, she had stood by the side of Albus Dumbledore long enough to know that things were rarely as they appeared.

But she hadn't seen through the last ruse; she'd only seen Albus' tumbled and broken body at the foot of the Astronomy tower. In the aftermath of that terrible night, Minerva had channelled her rage into making Severus' every moment a torment. Had publicly shamed him, and hunted him. Had spilt many of his most privately held secrets. And now he would never stalk down the halls of Hogwarts; would never play music or brew again.

It was the thought of his music that brought her gaze back to the piano and to the sheet sitting on the rack.

He had left it for her to find; she could feel the dying embers of his magic in it still.

With trembling hands, she began to play the song.

_Now I've heard there was a secret chord_   
_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_   
_But you don't really care for music, do you?_   
_It goes like this_   
_The fourth, the fifth_   
_The minor fall, the major lift_   
_The baffled king composing_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

The words brought her back in time, and she recalled then that Albus had never liked hearing Severus play; he would fidget like a restless, ill-mannered child, or loudly crunch on endless lemon sherbets in such a fashion that she had oft wished to box his ears for the sheer annoyance of it. Minerva had never quite been able to puzzle the why of Albus' enmity out. Eventually, she had concluded that it was because listening to Severus play was akin to listening to his soul, and it was very difficult to play Machiavelli when you were forced to confront the humanity of your pawns.

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_  
 _You saw her bathing on the roof_  
 _Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_  
 _She tied you to a kitchen chair_  
 _She broke your throne, and she cut your hair_  
 _And from your_ lips _she drew the Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

It had taken her years to figure out that Severus had never gotten over his youthful love for Lily Potter, and several more to fully understand how deeply he held himself responsible for her death. His sorrow and guilt had been unquenchable, and he had all but turned himself into a wraith in the years following that horrible Halloween. Vividly, she remembered the stark picture made by his emaciated, trembling frame on the grass in front of her father's kirk, and the solemn faced-man who had emerged at dawn, rededicated and resolute. She'd been proud of him then. Humbled.

Two decades on, she wondered if Lily had deserved his unwavering devotion; the girl had rejected him quickly enough when pressed by others to do so. Minerva recalled the much younger Severus begging her at the door to the Gryffindor Common Room to fetch the redhead so that he might apologise. When she had gone up and spoken to her, the foolish chit had refused, and Minerva had not pushed her into it. Severus had been utterly crushed by the rejection—even she had been able to see that. But what if she had made Lily go down and confront the boy who was begging for her mercy? Would it have changed things?

_You say I took the name in vain_   
_I don't even know the name_   
_But if I did, well really, what's it to you?_   
_There's a blaze of light_   
_In every word_   
_It doesn't matter which you heard_   
_The holy or the broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

_Hallelujah…_

The Slytherin men of Severus' graduating class had almost uniformly joined the Death Eaters upon leaving Hogwarts, and he had been no exception. Given his long-standing predilection for the Dark Arts- not to mention angry and sour personality- it had not come as a shock. Indeed, it was rumoured that Voldemort himself had funded his potions apprenticeship, and Minerva had been appropriately aghast when Albus had hired him to teach and stand as Head of Slytherin House two years later. She had not understood the decision at the time, but had chalked it up to one of the many power plays that so marked the veiled interactions between Albus and Voldemort.

But after years watching good friends and fellow Order members fall at feet of the Death Eaters, Minerva had taken great pleasure in being an absolute, ball-breaking bitch to Severus… until one misty August morning. Returning from a hunt in her cat form, she had stumbled upon him at the gates, broken and bleeding in the most horrifying fashion.

Transforming quickly, she had bustled him up to the Hospital Wing, summoning both Poppy and Albus.

"Why?" she had demanded, watching the Healer treating a large section of burnt flesh. "Why did this happen?"

"Because he fed Tom the wrong information," Albus responded calmly.

"Did he… did he know?"

"That it was the wrong information? Yes."

Pieces of the puzzle started to become clear, and Minerva blinked back a wave of tears. "Then why? Why would he do it, knowing it meant…"

The Headmaster was mute for some time. "He joined the Order. This is his role."

It was not the only night that she would find him injured, just the first.

_I did my best, it wasn't much_   
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_   
_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_   
_And even though it all went wrong_   
_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_   
_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah…_

They all had a go at killing him over the last year—the staff, the students—and yet Severus had stood resolute in the face of their hate. Had protected them when possible, and done what needed to be done to secure victory. And unlike Albus, he had only damned himself in the process.

It wasn't until the morning following the Battle of Hogwarts that she had the time and energy to think of him at all, and then it was only at the prompting of Potter and Granger. When Potter had shown her Severus' memories, the pain of it had driven her to her knees.

Once again, she had been a fool.

Once again, she had betrayed him.

Severus' graceful, magical fingers had gone icy and stiff by the time Minerva had retrieved his body from the Shrieking Shack. Pallid but well-formed, they had been sticky with his dried life's blood; it had taken her hours to wash all of it away. She would not forget the rictus of agony etched on his prematurely lined and worn face, or the savaged, torn flesh of his throat.

_Hallelujah…_

Minerva stared at the music blankly for some time, the last verse hitting her like an Entrail-Expelling Curse. More than anything, she wanted to have the chance to beg him for forgiveness. Trade places with him…

For a wavering moment, she saw a second set of hands slide next to hers; felt his solid warmth next to her on the piano bench. There was a voice.

_And even though it all went wrong_   
_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_   
_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah,_

_Hallelujah…_

She felt that final, piercing note with all the fibres of her being; it seemed to vibrate with all the warmth and promise of spring afternoon spent lying by the river. The scent of lemon polish and starch filled the air, and there was the heady rush of discovery. Of joy.

Then there was nothing, and she was alone in a silent and desolate room.

* * *

The following day, the piano disappeared. The corner remained empty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful lyrics to "Hallelujah" belong to the incomparable genius of Leonard Cohen.


End file.
